


The darkness that surrounds us

by subito



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Angst, Belts, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masochism, general fucked-upness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subito/pseuds/subito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is at a party James invited him to. Things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The darkness that surrounds us

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this never happened.

Tom could be at his flat now, playing through the night, ignoring all things sensible in regard to food and sleep and things that are good for your eyes. He could be but he isn't. Because curiosity got the better of him. He in no way resembles a cat but it might get him killed anyway. Someday. Or tonight.

The room is stuffed with people who try to look important but nonchalant, and their every breath robs the air of more oxygen. Tom talked to some journalists since he got here but now he is standing at a table, another drink in his hand and watches the person whose fault all of this is.

James is talking to some people in expensive suits, wearing an expensive but understated one himself sans tie. He is nodding politely, sometimes smiling and Tom takes another mouthful of his drink when he starts to notice things like the fine lines around James's eyes that come into existence when he smiles. The tanned skin has something about it that makes Tom think things which sometimes frighten him.

When he wakes up at night with images of marked skin, the destruction of the perfect shell, and his cock painfully hard, Tom can't help but wonder when it all went wrong. When did it start, where do these images come from in the first place and how will he ever get back to a life that seemed normal? There is an easy answer, of course, though it's not an easy one to admit. When people accused him of being paranoid and crazy he couldn't help but think they're right, but for entirely different reasons.

The circle on the other table dissolves and suddenly James is looking right at him, expression unreadable but conveying something that makes Tom go completely still and wary. There is a man with a plan, Tom thinks. James and two other men join him at his table and start an argument about the environment. It's surreal and Tom thinks about Zac Goldsmith and how he tried to believe him but something just doesn't fit. He thinks about introducing James and Zac to each other but they probably already have each other's contact details and might as well plot away together and… he should be concentrating instead of thinking absurd things.

Tom doesn't contribute much to their conversation. He doesn't care if two corporate wankers think he is boring or thick or both, and he also doesn't want to be heard agreeing to things James says. James’s voice is far too prominent to Tom’s ears, James’s hands are too animated for Tom’s eyes, everything James does seems to annoy Tom even more than usual tonight. He is growing more irritable by the second but tries to suppress it by drinking more and his mind is trying to escape by thinking "I could start the new level now and eat pizza rolls".

"Mr. Watson", James's weird voice jerks him out of his thoughts, insistent and even a bit bemused.

Tom gives him a 'What do you want' look and finishes his drink, trying to stare James down so he would leave him alone.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, Mr. Watson."

"Oh, really?!", Tom thinks but keeps his mouth shut. No point to snap at him now.

James leans his head to the side, looking at Tom with consideration. "So why did you come?"

Tom looks up from his empty glass and tries not to shout. " y'invited me, didn't you." _and since you won't leave me alone even when I sleep I thought I'd try to meet you in person again, get a dose of how unbearable you are and stop myself from going mad._

"Yes, Mr. Watson." The hint of a smile plays around his lips

The fingers that had toyed with the empty glass tighten around it and Tom chokes down the urge to throw it at James. It's the politeness that makes Tom want to break him.

James pushes his glasses back up his nose and Tom almost walks away. He can't stand here and deal with whatever it is that exists in his head. Not when James is standing less than a metre away, doing things that trigger stuff in Tom he didn't know was there.

James seems to sense Tom's restlessness and says more quietly "Why are you angry?" He nearly adds something about the service and if the food was to his liking but banalities and formality are misplaced in a situation where they aren't even sure what exactly they are talking about.

 _Why am I angry? I. don't. know. I'm angry at you for being the way you are and bringing out the worst in me and I'm angry at myself that I can't do anything about it, that I let it influence me and maybe even colour my judgment and .. yes... that is part of why I'm angry._ There is more but he doesn't say any of it. What he does say, spitefully, is "I want to punch you."

He isn't sorry he said it and he waits for James to laugh or to be offended and walk away. He is met with silence, the sort where you know the other person is thinking, calculating. Tom looks James in the eye and James doesn't break that contact. His voice is low and merely a whisper when he finally does look away. "Do it."

Tom isn't sure he heard correctly but there is a faint blush on James's face and Tom laughs nervously. James seems to take that as a sign and adds "Though we should probably go outside."

Now Tom genuinely laughs. "Oh, I see. Do you have some of your smear campaign journalists waiting? Trying to get a good picture of me assaulting you, are you? Do you really think- ", he laughs again, "think I was drunk enough to fall for such a trap? Was that your plan?" He shakes his head, still laughing.

But James looks at him earnestly and says "No."

Tom stops laughing and just blinks, trying to understand, while James turns around and heads towards another table.

 

It's not until half an hour later that Tom sees him again. It’s not like he was specifically looking for James but it would have been rude to leave just like that, even though he usually didn’t care about being rude and especially not about being rude to people he didn’t like and who deserved it on some level. And this was James, whom Tom wants to be extra rude to just to counter the über-politeness. But this was also the same James who confused Tom in a hundred different ways so that he wants to grab him and just scream at him and hope that, in the end, it might all make sense.

James is leaving the main hall and Tom follows him through hallways with fewer and fewer people. At one point, James turns his head and Tom knows he is looking at him but the lights reflect in James’s glasses and Tom can’t see his eyes. There is no indication of James slowing down or turning around again and somewhere in the back of his mind Tom hears the faint sound of alarm bells ringing. The thump of James’s shoes hitting the thin carpet seems to grow more frequent and against all intuition and sense that tell Tom he is being lead somewhere and he should probably turn around, he begins to run after James as he vanishes around a corner.

It’s a dead end and it takes Tom another two steps to reach James, who is casually walking down the corridor as if there wasn’t a wall just two metres in front of them. Tom grabs James’s arm and James turns around, looking at Tom with no expression, waiting.

“Sto-“, Tom has to catch his breath, “stop ru - running away!”

James continues to look at Tom with no obvious emotion on his face. “I’m not, Mr. Watson.”

Tom looks at him, incredulous and on what feels like the brink of sanity.

“I’m not running away, Mr. Watson.” James says more clearly, then drops his gaze for a second and adds more to himself “I won’t run away.”

Then, chest still heaving and heart pounding with adrenaline, Tom punches James in the face.

 

It’s not a boxer’s right hook but the surprise sends James’s head spinning and has him tumble backwards. Tom doesn’t move and just stares at James, waiting for a reaction. He half expects to have security take him away in a second, men appearing from out of the shadows, pushing him down some stairs. Time stretches but nothing happens and the dim lights in the small corridor make Tom aware of all the sharp edges around them. One of the lights flickers and then James’s voice cuts through the silence. “Do it again.”

He doesn’t look at Tom, who is still standing there, breathing heavily and trying to figure out what the hell is happening. James takes a step towards Tom as to show that he means it, head still bowed. He is so close that Tom’s belly is touching the hemline of James’s jacket.

Tom could just push him away and run and try to forget it ever happened but something about the whole situation and James’s behaviour forces his mind to think ‘oh, what the hell’ and he punches James again. It’s less hard than the first blow but James lets himself fall on his knees and continues to stare at the carpet.

There is that silence again, shadows that seem to move closer and Tom’s knuckles are burning. He touches James’s shoulder and feels him shaking ever so slightly. _It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t want it. He…_

Suddenly James looks up at Tom with dark eyes and one cheek distinctly redder than the other. “Again.” His voice is perfectly calm, not giving anything away and Tom can’t move. He is staring into those eyes and he thinks he might start to understand a bit.

“Please, Mr. Watson.”

Tom nods and punches him again. And again. And again. Head, chest, stomach, sides. He is aware that he shouldn’t leave more visible bruises, even though James hasn’t said a word. He is taking it all, without a sound leaving his lips, only opening them when Tom stops.

James’s breathing is fast and shallow, shoulders rising and mouth open, as if to take everything in at once, as if he’s breathing for the first time.

Tom is watching him with a mixture of that now well-known confusion and a new sensation of wonder. He can’t see much of James’s face but is sure he would say something if he was seriously injured. At least he hopes James would. After a few more moments in which they try to gather themselves, James looks at Tom and takes off his glasses.

“What else do you want to do to me, Mr. Watson?”

 

Tom has the urge to run away again but at the same time a whole world opens up in his mind and his hand reaches for James’s head. James doesn’t flinch and lets Tom’s hands close around his skull, thumb digging into the soft flesh under the chin, forcing him to look Tom in the eye. The red marks are barely visible in this light and under the tanned skin but there is some blood on James’s lower lip that makes his mouth stand out almost obscenely. Tom is looking into James’s eyes, searching for something behind those big pupils that tells him this is more than one of his dreams.

Holding James’s head in that position, Tom moves so he standing behind James and applies more pressure until he thinks he might actually be able to crush James’s head. But James still doesn’t make a sound.

Tom leans down and, breath hot against James’s ear, whispers “I want to use my belt on you.”

There is a sharp intake of breath and Tom feels a bit proud. “I want you on all fours and I want to use by belt. On your back. Until you scream.”

He lets go and of James’s head and watches him fall forward onto his hands. Tom opens his belt with a click and slowly pulls it out. James can’t see him but the sound of leather sliding through the loops, rubbing against the fabric of the trousers, that sound alone is enough to make the anticipation unbearable.

Someone laughs in the distance.

With closed eyes James is counting the number of loops but before they reach the final one, Tom stops. At first James thinks it is to tease him some more but when nothing happens, he turns his head and looks at Tom.

“Should- shouldn’t we go somewhere else?”, he vaguely waves a hand around. “This is still a public space and- What if-“

“You won’t do it if you have time to think about it.” James tells him matter-of-factly.

Tom wants to protest but before any words can leave his mouth he gives up. _He is right. What was I even thinking? Why did I give in and punch him? Actually punch him! This.._

Something brushes against Tom’s trousers and when he looks down he sees it is James hand, moving up and down in slow circles, over his thigh to his inner thigh and James’s eyes are fixed on Tom’s.

He wants to say something, maybe even end this but then James’s finger trails along the outline of Tom’s cock and all words are replaced by that maddening sensation that is strangely amplified by the layers of fabric. It’s a quarter tickling and a quarter electric shock and a big chunk of not enough pressure and … pure teasing. Tom fights the urge to press against James’s hand and hopes James doesn’t notice how quickly he is making Tom hard.

James opens Tom’s trouser button and zipper. “Please, Mr. Watson, let me do this.”

Tom closes his eyes when James pushes down his trousers and his fists tighten around his belt when James mouths him through his pants. His shirt has ridden up a bit and James’s short hair tickles against Tom’s belly for a moment before the sensation is replaced by a wet tongue sliding along Tom’s length. Tom’s pants join the pool of trousers around his ankles and James steadies himself against Tom’s hip. His fingers are dark brown against Tom’s pale flesh and his fingernails seem to glow in contrast. The hand that isn’t holding the belt takes James’s hand and twists it behind his back, pressing into the spine and forcing James to kneel more upright.

When Tom lets go of the hand, James keeps it there and lets Tom grab a hold of his head again.

“Close your eyes”, Tom tells him with more urgency in his voice than he would have liked and James obeys.

Tom slowly presses the head of his cock against James’s mouth and watches it slide in, stretching James’s lips into a tight ring. He starts slowly, testing how much James can take, his tip brushing against the roof of James’s mouth, guided by an eager tongue. He pushes in and withdraws, in and withdraws, in, until he feels the back of James’s through tighten as he fights his gag reflex and swallows around Tom.

Tom pushes in with more force and faster, genuinely fucking James’s mouth and is not sure how long he might last. He is close and his fingernails are digging into James’s skull but then  
James opens his eyes, looking at Tom with a sort of plea and it is almost enough to make Tom come. He wants to push in again, to see those eyes widen in shock, to finish himself of in that mouth and then hear James’s voice all rough and broken.

It’s those thoughts that make him stop and pull out, breath coming in huffs.

James wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it leaves a line of blood that comes from where Tom hit him earlier. Tom knows he should feel sick at the sight of that but his adrenaline is rushing around his body mercilessly and all he wants to do is grab hold of James again and see that blood taint more of James’s body.

“The belt. Now.”, James says quietly, “Please, I- need…” and he looks down again.

Tom nods and folds the leather belt. James starts to undo another button of his shirt, revealing more of his chest but Tom raises James’s chin with the hand that holds the belt and tells him “No, only the jacket comes off.”

James complies and then he is on all fours in front of Tom, head towards to wall. Tom brings the belt down on James’s arse, to test the waters and revels in the tiny gasp it earns him. He does it again but switches to James’s back, marvelling in the ripping sound the leather produces as it comes into contact with the shirt.

“Harder”, James chokes out, “please.”

Tom gives it his all, laying down a criss-cross pattern from shoulders to lower back. He doesn’t count the strokes but tries to listen out for any signs James might give. The rhythm has something hypnotic to it and after about ten more strokes, Tom is lost in his mind again, digging out sequences of his dreams and wonders if he can draw blood to stain the white shirt.

He also remembers how he said he wanted to hear James scream and notices how, instead of wincing and screaming, James has gone completely still. Tom stops, his muscles hurting and listens to James’s even breathing. _Fuck._

“James…”

Deep breaths.

“James, are you…”

More deep breaths and then, finally, a nod.

“Can- Mr. Wats- “, James’s looks at him and all there is, in his voice and look and, most obviously, the big bulge in his trousers, all there is, is need. He presses his palm against his erection and Tom becomes aware that he is still a bit hard as well. _Fuck it, why not._

James doesn’t move. Tom drops his belt to kneel behind James and grab his hips. The carpet is digging uncomfortably into his exposed knees but he is far too aroused to care. When he pushes down James’s trousers and pants, he also pushes up James’s shirt and gets a look at what he’s done. There are red welts, thick, some of them already turning into other colours and Tom can’t help but run a finger across one of them. James hisses and Tom wants to remove his hand but then James presses into the touch.

Tom has almost stopped questioning what he is doing here and so he does it again, feeling the pulse underneath James’s skin, warm and smooth. He draws James closer so that his cock is flush against James’s arse and James’s starts to slowly roll his hips in response.

“We need- “, Tom starts because he might want to hurt him but not like this.

“No, do- Just use spit. It will be enough.”, James cuts him off. “It will be enough.”

It is enough. Barely. Tom has to really fight his way in, pressing until the ring of muscles gives way and then staying like that, letting James adjust, though he needs, _needs_ to push deeper. James gasps and Tom grabs his hips a bit harder, not caring about one or two more bruises. When he feels James push back, Tom starts to slam into him, giving it none of the earlier reservations.

He can hear James breathe, can feel every little shift and the hand working his own erection. Tom sees the muscles play, feels them contract under his hands and around his cock. It’s fast and messy and then James comes over his hand with a chocked down cry. Tom takes four more deep thrusts and then he comes too, filling James up.

He withdraws and falls onto his back, recovering with a pounding heart that got months worth of workout today, and looks over to James who lies curled up on his side. Tom closes his eyes and tries to calm his breathing before rolling onto his side too and extending a hand to touch James’s shoulder.

James doesn’t respond so Tom moves closer and catches James wiping his eyes. They are red and puffy, and with the rest of James’s face they trigger a wave of guilt in Tom. It’s guilt about giving into whatever this is. Guilt about letting it come this far; guilt about not knowing the limits, his own or James’s.

It’s scary, all of it. This side of him, it’s scary. But what is even scarier is that even though he did this, even though he did what James wanted, he thinks he might have broken him for real. The feeling that comes with that knowledge, that’s the scariest thing of all. For it’s not anger or guilt but the need to put him back together again, to finally make him whole.

As this piece clicks into place, Tom holds James against his chest. He lightly touches James’s hair and carefully runs a thumb across his cheek, wiping away the traces of tears. James doesn’t open his eyes, but in a choked voice he says “Thank you.”


End file.
